We went out last night to fly our kite at sunset, but flew nothing because of the tangles we helpless children left in it last time, then crumpled it up and left it at the bottom of a bin, hoping beyond hope knots would just kinda come to some agreement with each other and work things out for themselves before we came to take it out to play again.
No such luck.
Naomi shot this photo of me and the kite's adventure, with eager Isaac cheering me on, far more confident in my ability to reason with string than was warranted.
I love this picture, shoes running amock, blanket tangled, dog standing guard, and most of all Isaac's pretty, pretty little knees.
The wind was blowing, as evidenced by attempts with the kite, and although you can't tell, other than by my sweater and Isaac in his sister's coat, it was cold. The kind of cold that is soft and welcome on your cheek and in your hair, makes you feel forlorn and full of longing for Things Undefined, a sandy, gritty mood.
Brooding somewhat hopeless in front of Isaac's need for flight and my inability to unknot tangle after tangle, a never ending maze of meaningless snags, arguing also with the wind that WOULD have its own way with the string, the kite itself begging to be let go to play, I thought of this poem:
The Cold Heaven
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?
So forgive me! I get a little Moody sometimes!